


I Know You

by EstherA2J



Category: Captain America (Movies), Maleficent (2014), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Betrayal, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Childhood Friends, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Defiant Steve Rogers, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Fae & Fairies, Falling In Love, Fantasy, First Kiss, Flying, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Kissing, Loki God of Mischief - Freeform, Love, M/M, Magic, Male Friendship, Manipulation, Misunderstandings, Non-Human Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson is a Gift, True Love's Kiss, Wings, non-human Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-10-14 16:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherA2J/pseuds/EstherA2J
Summary: I know you - I walked with you once upon a dream.I know you - that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam;And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem,But if I know you, I know what you'll do:You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.





	1. I Walked With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a faery meets a human boy.

The sun was rising over the Moors, kissing the treetops with gold. Buchanan rose from the tree where he had slept and flung himself into the wind, his wings opening with a snap. He soared down into the valley, past the other faeries who were just starting their day. “Good mornings” followed him as he dipped and swooped, and he returned the greetings with a smile.

One young voice rose over the others, calling for his attention, and he followed it and found the Odinson brothers. Thor was nearly bursting with the need to tell him something, bouncing a bit on his toes as Buchanan landed beside his friends; Loki simply stood back, his usual bored expression marred by a spark of interest in his eyes. Buchanan raised his eyebrows at them. “What’s going on?”

Thor began, “The border guards just told us—”

“There’s a human at the gem pool,” Loki interrupted. Thor spun on him, fists clenched; Clearly, he had wanted to be the one to give the news. Loki raised his hands palms forward, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Sorry.” His tone of voice said he was anything but.

Rolling his eyes at the brothers, Buchanan leapt into the air, his wings pushing him toward the pool. The last time humans had entered the Moors, nearly a generation ago, there had been a war between the two lands. He would like to avoid a repeat of that if possible.

The border guard stood in the pool, facing a curtain of moss and vines that fell from the edge of a cliff into the water, masking the area under the overhang. Buchanan alighted on a large rock beside the tree-like fae and nodded in greeting. “Good morning, Groot.” Peering into the shadows through the vines, his keen eyes spotted a shadowy figure hiding within. “Come out,” he called.

The voice that replied was young and defiant, and sounded as though its owner was trying very hard to stop it trembling. “I’ll fight all of you.”

“Sure you will." Buchanan snorted. “Come out  _ now _ ,” he commanded.

A small, skinny, blond boy in rough homespun stepped out from behind the mossy curtain, his chin up. He held himself ready, fists up, and his clear blue eyes flickered back and forth between the fae as if he expected one or both of them to attack him at any moment.

Buchanan frowned. He’d never seen a human before, but the stories his parents had told him made them sound much larger and more terrifying. This one looked aggressive, true, but not at all dangerous. “Are you fully grown?” he asked.

The human’s gaze fastened on Buchanan. He blinked, then glanced away and down towards the clear water, a touch of colour in his cheeks. “No,” he muttered.

Buchanan touched Groot’s arm, gently pushing his weapon down. “I think he’s just a boy.”

“So are you,” the human said, his tone defensive. Then he added, “...I think.”

<<He stole a gem,>> Groot said in his rumbling language.

Buchanan narrowed his eyes at the boy. “Give it back.” He held out his hand palm up. The stones in this pond were not to leave the Moors, as their power gave strength and life to the land.

“I… fine.” The human reached into his satchel and drew out a glittering emerald. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal it; I just thought it was pretty.” He tossed it across the water to Buchanan, who caught it easily, then let it slip into the pool, where it joined its kin. He shook his head as he watched the bright green stone sink slowly—emerald was for love and family, and the fae had precious little of that even so many years after the last war.

❈❈❈

“If you were just going to throw it away, why did you take it back from me?”

Buchanan glanced sideways at the human boy as he walked beside him. “I didn’t throw it away. I delivered it home. Just as I will do with you.”

“Oh.” The boy brushed a lock of golden hair out of his eyes, casting a sidelong look at Buchanan. “Do fairies have names?”

Buchanan felt his mouth twitch at one corner. “Yes.”

The boy’s lips tilted slightly in response. “What’s yours?”

“Buchanan.” They had reached the edge of the forest now, and he stopped, his wing tips sweeping along the ground behind him from where his wings were folded against his back. King Alexander’s domain began here, and it was not a land friendly to the fae.

“Buchanan.” His name sounded alien on the human lips, the pronunciation odd. “My name is Steve.” The boy offered his hand with a smile. “May I call you Bucky?”

Buchanan nodded, and slowly took Steve’s hand. He had never heard of a human offering friendship to a fae before. A sudden sharp pain scorched his palm, and he snatched his hand back with an exclamation.  _ This _ was more like the humans in the stories: duplicitous and false.

“What is it?” The open, honest dismay in Steve’s face cooled Buchanan’s anger.

He opened his hand to show Steve the angry red mark on his palm. “Iron burns faeries.”

Horror suffused Steve’s face, and he tugged a ring off of his finger. Turning on his heel, he flung it as far as he could into the tall grass of the plains. “I’m so sorry,” he said, turning back. “I had no idea. I was told it was a charm of protection.”

Buchanan only stared, speechless. That a human would throw away one of his possessions without a second thought, simply because it would hurt a faery he had just met… perhaps there was hope for peace between their lands after all.

Steve bit his lip, and scuffed his toe against a clump of grass. “What if I come back sometime?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Buchanan replied. “It’s not safe for humans in the Moors.”

Steve grinned, his eyes sparkling with that same defiance from before, but tempered with good humour now. “But if I did, would you be here?”

Buchanan pressed his lips tightly together, trying not to smile back, trying to ignore the way his heart leaped at the thought of seeing Steve again. “Maybe.”


	2. That Look in Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki is _not_ helpful.

The sun was just rising over the treeline that marked the border between the two lands, not yet touching the deep shadows beneath the branches, as Steve approached. He had tried to get away to come back here sooner, but his uncle had taken a sudden interest in his education and, for several days, had kept him busy from dawn to dusk with extra sparring and tactics practice on top of his regular lessons. He stretched his arms behind his back, grabbing one wrist in the other hand and pulling the sore muscles as far as he could. 

With a satisfied sigh, he let his arms fall back to his sides as he stepped under the edge of the trees. If he could only ease the ache in his brain so easily. He threw his head back to shout. “Bucky!”

His only answer was a sudden burst of butterflies leaving the tree to perform an intricate dance in the sunshine. Leaning back against the rough trunk, he smiled and slid down to sit on the grass and leaves. Pulling a scrap of parchment and a lump of charcoal from his pockets, he began to sketch the butterflies. Bucky would come; he always did.

“That’s beautiful.” Steve jerked at the voice in his ear, smudging a streak of black across the paper. He looked up into apologetic blue eyes. “Sorry,” Bucky said softly.

Steve lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s fine.”

The faery boy tipped his head to one side, eyeing Steve soberly, his curved horns glinting softly in the sunlight. “No, it’s not. You were creating something wonderful and I destroyed it.”

Steve smiled slowly, then bent over the parchment again. With a few strokes from the charcoal, he transformed the streak into a dragonfly playing with the butterflies. Finished, he presented it to Bucky, who took it carefully, holding the very edges with his fingertips.

“That’s amazing.” Bucky gazed at the simple sketch as if it was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen.

Steve’s cheeks heated and he waved the praise away. “You can keep it if you want.” He ducked his head, putting the charcoal away. When he raised his eyes again, Bucky was still engrossed in the picture, and Steve’s cheeks grew even hotter. He wasn’t used to such appreciation of his work—while his uncle included art lessons in his curriculum, he made it clear that such things were of less importance. He expected Steve to spend the majority of each day practicing the sword and learning administration, skills he would need when he was king. And his art teachers, while encouraging, were focused on how he could improve, not on praising him.

Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s, and his face lit up with a smile. His fingers tightened on the edges of the parchment. “Thank you, Steve. I will treasure it.”

“Um.” Steve looked away again and bit his lip, suddenly uncomfortable with the intensity in Bucky’s eyes. “What do you do for fun around here?”

❈❈❈

The ground fell sharply away beneath Steve’s feet, and he sucked in a breath that turned into a gasp of awe. Bucky’s hands around his ribs tightened. “Do not worry, Steve. I would never let you fall.”

Steve grinned, spreading his arms out to either side to catch the wind. “I know.” This was more exhilarating than riding the fastest horse in his uncle’s stables. “This is amazing!”

A delighted laugh fell on his ears, and Bucky swooped higher, over the trees, then down in a steep dive toward a crystal-blue lake. Steve gulped a lungful of air just before they hit the surface and plunged into the icy water together, yet he still came up gasping, shaking water from his eyes and ears. Bucky surfaced much more smoothly next to him, water flowing in sheets from his dark, shoulder-length hair.

Steve struck the surface of the water with the flat of his hand, sending a small wave over Bucky, who blinked, then grinned and returned the favour. Ducking away from the cold droplets, Steve frantically splashed with both hands while trying futilely to avoid Bucky’s retaliations. A flock of tiny sprites circled their heads, scolding them sharply. The boys stopped for a second, exchanged glances, then joined forces against the sprites, sending waves of water toward them. The shrill voices rose even higher until Steve’s ears hurt, then, thankfully, the tiny terrors flew away.

Laughing and panting, the two boys made their way to the shore where they collapsed in the sun. Bucky lay on his stomach and spread his shimmering wings wide. Steve’s fingers itched to draw those wings. At first glance, they appeared black, but now, with the sun playing across the feathers, he could see blues blending with greens and even hints of rich brown among the blacks and greys. They were beautiful. Bucky was beautiful.

❈❈❈

On Steve’s sixteenth birthday, he spent the day smiling and being polite until he wanted to scream. Castle Triskelion was crammed to bursting with lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses, all of them vying for his attention and favour. The ones with daughters near his age were especially friendly, and the girls were done up like gifts to be presented to him. The glittering jewels and shrill laughter set his head to pounding, and he wished he was with Bucky, filling his lungs with the clean air of the Moors rather than the cloying scents here.

He was bowing to yet another silly girl whose parents stood back beaming when the doors of the grand hall burst open to admit two winged figures. It took Steve a moment to recognize Thor and Loki from the Moors, and he found himself peering past them to see if Bucky had come too. But of course he hadn’t, because Steve had never told him where he lived. Then again, he had never told anyone on the Moors so how did the Odinson brothers come to be here?

Thor strode toward King Alexander, his gold-feathered wings and gleaming armour catching the light and reflecting it back in a blinding display of brilliance. His brother followed, darker green wings almost seeming muted in comparison, eyes flickering back and forth across the crowd. When he spotted Steve, his eyes widened, then a smile spread across his face, a mischievous smile that worried Steve. When Loki smiled like that, Steve had learned, usually nothing good came of it.

“Your Majesty!” Thor bent his head in the greeting between equals, and Alexander’s jaw tightened as he turned away from his conversation with Lord Sitwell. Steve sighed and made his way over, hoping to defuse the situation—his uncle didn’t understand or care that the fae people of the Moors saw themselves as no less than royalty. Oblivious to the king’s reaction, Thor continued, “I am Thor Odinson. My brother Loki and I heard that the prince’s coming-of-age celebration is today, and we have come to pay our respects.”

Loki’s eyes followed Steve as he approached, that worrying smile still on his lips. Standing in his brother’s shadow, cloaked in darkest green and black, Loki had not afforded the human king even the courtesy that his brother had, but Alexander hadn’t noticed, focused as he was on the brighter Thor.

As Steve stepped up to stand next to his uncle, Thor turned toward him. “And is this the prince now—?” His eyes widened with recognition. “Steve!”

Loki’s smile grew as Alexander turned slowly toward his nephew. Steve took a deep breath and met his uncle’s eyes. There was a storm brewing in their depths. “Steven.” The king put a heavy hand on Steve’s shoulder, steering him away from Lord Sitwell’s ears, his voice quiet and dangerous. “Would you care to explain how this faery knows you?”

From the corner of his eye, Steve could see a look of horror on Thor’s face as he realized what he had said. Loki, however, was delighted, his eyes flickering eagerly back and forth between Steve and Alexander. Steve met the king’s gaze, his chin up. “I have visited the Moors, Uncle.”

Alexander’s fingers tightened uncomfortably on Steve’s shoulder. “Steven.” He sighed. “You know it’s not safe to go there.”

Steve nodded. “Yes, Uncle. But I have made friends there. I believe that we can have peace between our lands.”

Alexander shook his head sadly. “I admire your idealism, Steven, but they are not human. You can’t trust them.” He turned to face Thor and Loki. “I’m sorry, but you’re not welcome here.” Steve opened his mouth to protest, and Alexander tightened his grip even more, his fingers digging into Steve’s shoulder painfully. “You can take a message back to your people for me, Thor Odinson: stay out of my kingdom if you value your lives.”

“Uncle, no!” Steve jerked out of the king’s grasp, horrified.

Alexander swung around to meet his nephew’s eyes, his glare fiery. “Don’t test me on this, Steven. You are too young to understand—they will only betray you in the end.”

Jaw clenched, Steve refused to back down. “'I trust Thor; he's my friend.”

Alexander sighed. “How well can you possibly know him? He's a fae, and fae betray people; it's their nature.”

“Bucky would never betray me,” Steve blurted out, and immediately went cold, wishing he could snatch the words—especially the name—back.

Alexander’s eyes narrowed and he sent a quick glance toward Thor and Loki. “Who the  _ hell _ is ‘Bucky’?” His voice was quiet and full of menace.

Steve closed his eyes, dragging a breath into his lungs. Whatever he said now would only make it worse.

Loki chuckled softly. “Oh dear. What an awkward situation.”

Thor rounded on his brother. “Shut up. You are not helping.”

But Loki’s smile only grew. “I believe ‘Bucky’ is Steve’s nickname for our friend Buchanan, Your Majesty,” he offered, stepping forward into a deep bow before the king.

Alexander inclined his head slightly, obviously pleased at the show of obeisance. Thor grabbed Loki’s arm and yanked him back. “Be silent, brother!”

Steve reached out toward the king. “Uncle—”

“Enough, Steven. I command you to come to your senses.” Alexander’s eyes were cold. “I have heard tales of this Buchanan. Even among the fae, he is considered dangerous. You will not have any further contact.” He turned on Thor and Loki. “Begone.”

Thor opened his mouth as if to protest, but Alexander gestured to his guards and they began to close in. Loki caught his brother’s arm and pulled him away.

Steve watched the fae leave through angry tears. Not trusting himself to speak again, he turned on his heel and left the hall.


	3. Visions are Seldom All They Seem

The sky over the Moors was clear and bright, the sun nearing its zenith at midday. Buchanan soared over the trees, his thoughts—as they often were—on Steve. The human boy hadn’t visited in over a week, and Buchanan was beginning to worry. This was the longest he had stayed away since they had met.

“Bucky!” The voice was not familiar and Buchanan frowned, banking steeply toward it, curious. No one other than Steve had ever called him by that name, but this was not Steve’s voice.

Wary, he alighted softly and silently in a tree where he could see without being seen. A dark haired human in chainmail stood just under a tree on the edge of the Moors, peering into the shadows. His left hand rested lightly on the hilt of a sword strapped to his hip. “Bucky?” he called again.

One human wasn’t much of a threat to him, so Buchanan pushed himself into the air, then landed lightly behind him, snapping his wings together behind his back in a rush of air. The human swung around, his eyes widening slightly. He took a step forward, his hand still on his sword.

Buchanan watched him through narrowed eyes, ready to leap into the air if that iron weapon slid free. “Yes?”

The human inclined his head slightly. “I am Sir Brock. His Highness Prince Steven sent me.”

Who? Buchanan frowned, tilting his head to one side as he studied this strange human. Wait— “ _ Prince _ Steven?”

Brock nodded. “Yes. He asked me to find his friend Bucky and warn him.”

Steve was a prince? “Warn me about what?”

His gaze intense, Brock took another step forward. “The king is very angry. He has put a price on your head.”

Buchanan took a step back, his eyes flashing to the sword again. “What? Why?” His wings fluttered, ready to snatch him away.

Brock shrugged. “King Alexander has never liked fae, and he thinks you’re a danger to his nephew. The prince tried to talk to him, but the king believes that you’ve enspelled the boy—he’s forbidden him from leaving the castle.” Finally taking his hand from his sword, he untied a pouch from his belt. “His Highness asked me to come in his stead and offer you his deepest apologies for his enforced absence.” He lifted his hand toward Buchanan, the pouch dangling from his fingertips, a crooked smile on his lips. “He also asked me to give you this as a token of his undying friendship.”

Buchanan plucked the small leather bag from the human’s fingers, forcing down his eagerness to see what Steve had sent him. He tucked the pouch unopened into his tunic. “Thank you.”

Brock’s lips quirked up higher. “Don’t mention it. Really. The king would have my head if he found out.” He settled his hand back on his sword hilt. “Any message I can take back to my prince?”

Buchanan stepped back to put more distance between himself and Brock. Despite his smooth words, there was something about Brock that bothered Buchanan. “Please tell Steve that I value his friendship and I look forward to the day when he may be free to visit me again.”

Brock nodded. “I will tell him.” And he turned and strode away across the fields… toward Steve. Who was a prince.

Buchanan shook his head slowly. Why had Steve hidden that from him? He opened his wings in a gust, and leapt into the air, alighting almost immediately in a nearby tree. Sitting on a branch with his back against the trunk, he drew the leather pouch out and stared at it for a moment. This was the second gift that Steve had given him. Were all humans so generous? More likely, it was just Steve.

He untied the bag and poured the contents into his palm. A red and white fall of silk filled his hand, and he blinked. Setting the empty pouch aside, he lifted the fabric before his eyes, squinting at it. The colours blurred together, swirling into a kaleidoscope of shimmering light, and he blinked furiously in a vain attempt to clear his vision.

His eyelids grew heavy, and he dropped the square of coloured silk to rub at his eyes—and they began to burn as if on fire. He forced his eyes open, and his gaze fell upon the handkerchief lying across his lap—red and white with an embroidered blue ‘S’ in the corner. The fabric glittered with a malevolent light. Dragging a shuddering breath into his lungs, he pushed it away and let his eyes fall closed again.

“Steve?” His voice was barely a whisper in his ears. He tipped his head back to rest against the tree. The curse on the handkerchief was very strong, and it dragged him into sleep.  _ Why? _ The plea echoed inside his head, fading into nothing.

❈❈❈

Awareness returned slowly. Buchanan lay facedown on the forest floor beneath the tree that had been his perch, and his whole body ached as if he had fallen. The light was gone; he must have been unconscious for hours. Swallowing against the dryness of his throat, he put a hand out to push himself up, and stopped as agony ripped across his back and shoulders at the movement. Gulping sharp lungsful of air, he held himself still until the pain receded to a dull ache once again. He tried again to rise, and lost his balance, falling to one side. Pain tore through him when he tried in vain to throw his wings out for balance.

His breath came faster, shallow gasps that left his head spinning. He slowly lifted a hand and reached back. They were gone. His wings were gone. His fingers brushed against the ragged wounds, and a wordless cry of anguish rose up and tore through his throat to spill out into the night.

❈❈❈

“You know, it was humans that killed your parents.” Loki sprawled in the seat formed by a bent tree, watching Buchanan through narrowed eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, but... “ He shrugged elegantly. “I think you deserve to know, especially now.”

Buchanan tried to swallow past the tightness of his throat, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles ached. “Your father told me it was an accident.” His voice was barely a whisper.

Loki rolled his eyes and waved a hand as if bothered by an insect. “He was concerned that you might do something rash seeking vengeance.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Buchanan’s voice was stronger now, the anger rising up to spill out of him. “They deserve it, don’t they?”

Loki’s eyes glittered above a dangerous smile. “Oh yes. In their mad scramble for power, they don’t care who they hurt, who they destroy. They are nothing but bugs to be squashed.” He rose smoothly to his feet. “Shall we squash some bugs, my friend?”

The rage in Buchanan’s heart coalesced into an icy blade of conviction. “Yes.”


	4. The Way You Did

The mid-morning sun spilled over the castle walls and into Steve’s eyes where he assailed a wooden dummy with a practice sword, his strikes still furious though he had been at it since dawn. His tunic clung to his skin and the muscles in his arms and shoulders burned with fatigue, but the anger in his veins spurred him on. It had taken longer for him than for the other boys his age, but Steve had finally filled out and could no longer be called “scrawny.” It was so much easier now that he had the strength and endurance to swing a sword like this. Several days had passed since Alexander had forbidden him from seeing Bucky, and he hadn’t even been able to send word, to explain. Despair threatened, but anger was better, easier. A vicious swipe of the blade sent the wooden figure clattering to the ground where it lay with three of its fellows from earlier this morning.

After a few moments’ breather and a slug from the waterskin, Steve stepped over to the fresh dummies stacked along the wall and dragged another one into place and stepped back, raising his sword again. A voice interrupted before he could take a swing, however: “Prince Steven!”

Turning around and lowering the practice blade to rest its tip in the dust, Steve nodded stiffly to the knight who was approaching. “Sir Brock.”

The knight inclined his head in greeting, eyeing the broken figures. “Your uncle wishes an audience with you, my lord.”

Steve closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly and opened his eyes. He handed Brock the practice sword. “Put that away, would you?” He turned toward the castle, ready to march into his uncle’s presence sweaty and dirty as he was. “The throne room or his study?”

“Are you going to clean up first this time?” Brock waved a hand at Steve’s sweat- and dust-stained tunic and scuffed boots.

Setting his jaw, Steve repeated, “Throne room or study?”

Brock raised his free hand as if in surrender. “Study.”

Steve turned on his heel and left. If the king had a problem with his attire, that was just too bad. Steve didn’t feel inclined to make any extra effort to accommodate the man who had separated him from Bucky.

❈❈❈

As Steve entered his uncle’s study, the king’s eyes flickered over him, and Steve could feel the disapproval. He braced himself for a scathing comment on his appearance, but Alexander appeared to have more important things on his mind. Leaning forward on his desk, the king clasped his hands and nodded toward the chair facing him. “Have a seat, Steven.”

Steve sat as instructed, but said nothing. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he could speak to his uncle without shouting, even after a few days to cool down.

Alexander cleared his throat. “I have something I need—”

But Steve never found out what his uncle needed, for he was interrupted by the almost musical explosion of the window bursting inward. Steve’s shocked gaze took in Bucky and Loki landing in a shower of glass shards—was Loki  _ carrying  _ Bucky? He had no time to wonder, however, for the fae were striding across the room, black and green capes swirling around them, fairly crackling with power. Bucky was wearing a cape now? It was stunning—a black that rippled with blues and purples—but it hid his beautiful wings.

Alexander rose to his feet, bristling with indignation. “What is the meaning of this? Explain yourselves before I call the guards!”

They ignored him. Bucky’s eyes, seething with fury, fastened on Steve. The icy darkness of his gaze sent a spear of dread through Steve’s insides. He stood up slowly, his hands out to each side, palm out. “Bucky?”

“ _ You _ don’t get to address me that way.” His voice was like cold fire. He stopped a few feet in front of Steve, holding his gaze. “Not after what you’ve done.”

“What? Buck—” Steve raised his hands higher, biting off the name as Bucky took another step toward him.

Bucky snarled, “I thought you were different. But you’re just like the rest of them! It was all an act. Betrayer!” He spat on the ground at Steve’s feet.

“Now, see here!” Alexander slammed a fist on the top of his desk.

Loki lifted a hand toward him almost negligently. “Sleep,” he said, and Alexander slumped back into his chair.

Steve tried to keep his voice steady and calm. “I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t me. You know me.”

“No, I don’t.” Bucky’s lip curled. “I thought I did. I was wrong.”

Steve shook his head, desperate to make him see. “You’re my friend. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Bucky’s laugh was edged with hysteria. “Then what do you call  _ this _ ?” He turned around and swept the black cape from his shoulders.

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Where Bucky’s strong and beautiful wings had been, there were angry scars in the flesh… and no wings. A choked gasp escaped Steve and he brought a hand to his mouth, tears filling his eyes. “No… Bucky, when—how did this happen?” Fae healed very rapidly, but Steve had never seen a fae with injuries this severe before. And this is  _ Bucky _ . Just thinking of the pain Bucky had been—was still—in made Steve feel ill.

Bucky turned back to face Steve, the anger fading into confusion. “You sent a messenger to me—Sir Brock. But it was a vile trick.”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “I never sent Brock to you.” Why in all the hells would Brock do something like this?

Loki caught Bucky’s arm and hissed, “Don’t believe his human lies, Buchanan. Remember your parents.” He snatched a scrap of silk from his pocket with gloved hands and threw it at Steve. “And I suppose you will deny this is yours?”

Steve fumbled and caught the handkerchief. His eyes widened at the familiar colours and his monogram in the corner. “Where… did you get this?”

“You sent it to Buchanan—infused with a curse.” Loki gestured toward Bucky.

Steve went cold. Brock couldn’t have stolen this from Steve’s rooms without help. Steve’s eyes flickered toward his uncle’s slumped form. Would Alexander have gone this far to prevent their friendship? Did he truly hate fae that much?

Bucky’s eyes glittered like chips of ice. “And now it’s your turn.” He raised his hands and seemed to grow taller, power snaking around him into a spiral like the wind sometimes did on the plains.

Loki watched avidly as Bucky turned his now fiery eyes on Steve. “When I touch you, you shall fall into a sleep like death from which you will never awaken.”

Loki laughed coldly. “Perhaps, Buchanan… ‘true love’s kiss’ could break the curse?”

Bucky’s lips twisted, then he nodded. “Fine. But no other power on earth can change it.”

“Bucky—” Steve’s voice broke. “I would never hurt you. But if I ever find out who sent Brock, they’re going to be sorry.” Steve glanced at his uncle again, then held Bucky’s eyes. He dropped the handkerchief and spread his hands out again to either side, willing them not to tremble. “I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend.”

Loki snorted in derision. “Some ‘friend.’ Humans can never be trusted. Do it, Buchanan.”

Something flickered in Bucky’s eyes—hesitation, maybe?—but then he lifted his hand toward Steve, a maelstrom of magic gathering around his fist. “You’ve lost the right to call me that.”

Steve raised his chin. “Then finish it.”

Something flickered in the depths of Bucky’s eyes and he hesitated. For a split second, Steve thought he might change his mind, but then his eyes went cold again, and he reached out one finger and touched Steve between the eyes.

Cold radiated out from Bucky’s fingertip, filling Steve’s body with ice from the top of his head down as if he had been doused with ice water. Darkness followed, closing over Steve and carrying him away to nothing.


	5. Once Upon a Dream

As soon as Buchanan’s feet touched down once again in the Moors, he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around his middle and bending forward until his forehead nearly touched the ground. Agony tore at his heart, more painful than the ache in his back where his wings had been. A thundering pounded in his head, nearly deafening him.

A voice reached his ears, distant through the roaring: “Brother! What has happened?”

Above him, Loki replied, “Steve.” Only one word, but with a weight of meaning that pressed in upon Buchanan, tearing a gasp from his throat.

“What have I done? I  _ knew _ him,” he whispered, his voice raw and hoarse. The memory of Steve standing before him, unafraid, his hands outspread in surrender filled Buchanan’s mind. That Steve would  _ surrender _ was so aberrant it seemed a dream. A terrible dream. Why would Steve take Bucky’s wings and then simply allow Bucky to curse him with an effectively unbreakable curse? It made no sense. It was not in Steve’s character.

The gentle weight of a hand rested on his shoulder, and Loki’s voice murmured near his ear, “You  _ thought  _ you knew him.”

Buchanan spread his hands palm up, staring at them in horror. “What have I  _ done? _ ”

“No worse than what he did to you,” Loki replied coldly.

“What  _ happened? _ ” Thor demanded. They both ignored him.

“No.” Buchanan’s head jerked up. Loki knelt beside him, and Thor crouched before him. “He took my wings—I took the rest of his  _ life _ .” His voice broke and he pushed himself to his feet, shrugging Loki’s hand off.  _ True love’s kiss can break the curse. No other power on earth can change it. _ He had cursed Steve, and even  _ he _ couldn’t change that now.

Thor straightened and lifted a hand toward him. “Buchanan, I don’t understand. Steve is our friend.”

Buchanan slashed a hand through the air, turning away from the confusion in Thor’s eyes. “Leave me be!” Turning on his heel, he plunged into the forest, uncaring where he went, just needing to get away. His fury at himself twisted and whispered that this was at least partly Loki’s fault, and he needed to stay away until he was certain he wouldn’t kill Loki.

A few minutes of stumbling progress later, Buchanan stopped, catching himself against a tree. Without the familiar weight of his wings, every step felt like a fall off a precipice. Reaching overhead, he broke a long straight branch off the tree and ran his hands over it, coaxing the wood to shape and smooth itself into a comfortable grip. Then, leaning on his new staff, he continued his slow-paced retreat.

❈❈❈

Buchanan wandered through the forest, lost and unseeing, for what might have been hours, turning things over and over in his mind. If he had just  _ listened _ to Steve, if he  _ hadn’t _ listened to Loki, if he hadn’t used such a powerful curse...

A commotion of yelling, barking, and thrashing brought his head up from the contemplation of setting one foot in front of the other. Peering through the trees, he discovered he had reached the edge of the Moors, and a farm lay before him.

The human farmer had a large falcon trapped under a net on the ground, and he was watching the bird fight to free itself while his dog barked furiously, but a flurry of wing and talon and beak tossed the net to and fro and kept the dog at bay. Buchanan leaned on his staff for a moment, watching. The bird was tiring, and would soon lose this battle. It was likely to be the farmer’s supper.

He wasn’t sure why, but that bothered him. Maybe it was that this was a life he could save, a beginning of atonement for what he had done to Steve. Maybe he sensed something from the bird, an intelligence beyond that of a mere beast. He lifted a hand, sending a swirl of power to surround the bird.

The farmer and his dog fell back confused as the falcon vanished, leaving a dark-skinned man in its place, bowed beneath the net. Buchanan stepped out into the open, turning his fiery gaze upon the farmer, who stumbled all over himself and his dog trying to get away. As they left, Buchanan turned toward the young man who had been a falcon; he slowly stood, staring wide-eyed at his hands as the net slid from his shoulders to fall in a heap behind him, raising a small puff of dust. He raised his dark eyes to Buchanan. “What did you do to me?”

Folding his hands together around his staff, Buchanan raised his eyebrows. “I believe I saved your life.” And a good thing, too. This was clearly no ordinary bird, as he could speak. Buchanan had heard of fae appeared to be birds, but had not met one before.

The dark skinned man smiled as he straightened up, and then bowed formally. “Thank you. The name’s Samuel.”

Buchanan inclined his head slightly. “Buchanan.” He turned to leave, but Samuel caught his arm.

“You’re not going to leave me like this?” He gestured toward his human form.

Buchanan turned back slowly. “No...  of course not.” He lifted his hand and returned Samuel to his true form. As the falcon stretched out his wings, Buchanan turned away. “Would that my wings were so easily returned to me,” he said softly.

❈❈❈

As the sun’s light retreated, leaving deeper and deeper shadows beneath the trees, Buchanan stopped beneath a large tree and tilted his head back to look up into the branches. Before, when he had wings, he would have spent the night in the crook where a large branch met the trunk, but his shoulders were still healing so he didn’t have the strength to reach the branches in order to climb. With a sigh, he sat on the ground and carefully positioned his back against the trunk and laid his staff beside him.

With a rush of feathers, Samuel settled before him and dropped a dead rabbit on the ground between them. When Buchanan did nothing but stare at the falcon, Samuel pushed the rabbit closer with his beak and fluttered his wings impatiently. It seemed Samuel wished to show his gratitude.

“I— Thank you.” Buchanan picked up the rabbit and nodded to the falcon. He called up fire from the ground and soon had the meat roasting on a spit over crackling flames. Samuel watched, his eyes glowing in the light from the fire. “Well.” Buchanan met the falcon’s eyes across the flames. “Why did you follow me?”

Samuel cocked his head, somehow giving the impression of a raised eyebrow. Buchanan’s lips curved into something resembling a smile, though it felt wrong on his face. “Right. Sorry.” He cast out with his power, and the bird grew into a man once again. “You now have the ability to change yourself,” he added.

Grinning, Samuel seated himself cross legged beside the fire. He shrugged, the fire’s glow shimmering over his dark curls as he moved. “It seems I must thank you again. I owe you my life.”

Buchanan’s gaze fell to the flames, studying the shifting, dancing colours, but he said nothing. He’d thought before that this could be a beginning of atonement, but how many lives would he have to save to make up for what he had done to Steve?  Could saving lives make up for a fate worse than death?

“Forgive me, but are you not a faerie too?” Samuel’s voice was gently probing.

Buchanan looked up at him, blinking. “I am.”

“I thought all faeries had wings.” 

His throat tight, Buchanan closed his eyes. “Most do. Mine were stolen from me.” He missed the freedom of flight, the feel of the wind in his face—but even more, he missed the Steve he’d thought he knew—his friend. But maybe that was the true Steve, and he had misjudged him completely.

For a few moments, the only sound was the crackling and popping of the burning wood. Then Samuel said quietly, “I don’t want to presume, but I know what it is to carry guilt and regret, and I can see the way they weigh you down.” Samuel’s voice didn’t waver. “My brother was shot by a hunter last year. He was aiming at a duck but missed. Nothing I could do. Like I was just up there to watch.”

Buchanan shook his head sharply, staring into the dancing colours of the flames. “ _ You _ didn’t kill him.” Not like I did.

“No.” Samuel leaned forward. “You want to tell me what happened?”

Hunching his shoulders, Buchanan sucked in a sharp breath as the motion caused a stab of pain to lance across his back. “No,” he said shortly. What good would it do anyway?

Samuel nodded slowly. “Okay. But a burden is made lighter by sharing the weight. It’s up to you how you carry it.”

Buchanan lifted his gaze from the fire and met Samuel’s gentle dark eyes. If Samuel really wanted to know… “I killed my best friend.” He watched Samuel’s face, expecting horror and disgust, expecting Samuel to walk away from him. Instead, Samuel just waited, his eyes full of sympathy. Turning his face sharply away, Buchanan continued, “He might as well be dead for the curse is unbreakable.”

“You cursed him?” Samuel’s voice was soft, questioning without condemning, and Buchanan clenched his fists. He  _ deserved _ to be condemned. He had not offered Steve a fair trial, had not even  _ considered _ it.

“I called on the darkest powers I know and cursed him with eternal sleep.” And, really, it was quibbling to draw a distinction between  _ that _ and death.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you curse him?”

Buchanan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “He cursed me first… or so I thought.” He opened his eyes and stared into the depths of the fire. “I was so angry. He said it wasn’t him… but I wouldn’t listen.” Maybe it  _ hadn’t _ been Steve. It could have been that knight, Brock, acting alone. Bowing his head, Buchanan crossed his arms tightly over his middle. “I should have listened to my friend, and not everyone else.”

Samuel stared into the flames for a moment. “Why did you think he did it?”

Leaning his head back against the tree trunk, Buchanan closed his hands into fists. “Humans killed my parents, and Steve is human. But Steve never gave me any indication that he would betray me. I was blinded by my pain. I should have stopped to think.” His jaw tightened and his eyes burned with unshed tears.

“It sounds like you no longer think he did it.”

Swallowing hard, Buchanan nodded. “I guess I don’t.”

Picking up a stick, Samuel poked at the fire, causing a shower of tiny orange sparks to float up into the black night. “Is there a way to break the curse?”

“No.” Buchanan shook his head sharply. His lips twisted in disgust at himself. “Well… True love’s kiss.”

White teeth gleamed in the firelight as Samuel grinned. “Is that all?”

His jaw tightening until it hurt, Buchanan glared at Samuel. “This is not a joke.”

“I know.” Samuel’s grin vanished, and he held Buchanan’s gaze, his eyes intense. “But don’t you see? You could save him if you want to.”

Buchanan was already shaking his head. “No. That  _ was _ a joke. Loki added that to mock him.” He let out a breath in a gust of a sigh. “Loki told me long ago that there’s no such thing as true love’s kiss.”

“Or maybe this Loki added that to mock  _ you _ .” Samuel’s eyes glowed warm in the firelight. “The look in your eyes when you talk about him… anyone can see that you love him.”

“What?” Hardly breathing, Buchanan stared at Samuel. He hardly wanted to hope it was possible that Steve could be saved, but the idea that  _ Buchanan _ himself could save him… that was impossible. “He’s… he’s human.”

Samuel shrugged, somehow giving the impression of feathers ruffling and settling around him. “So?”

Sitting very still, Buchanan stared at Samuel, hardly daring to breathe. “It’s… he’s… it doesn’t work like that. It has to be true love.”

One of Samuel’s black eyebrows rose. “I admit I don’t have much experience, so please explain: what is true love then?”

“It’s…” Buchanan frowned, his fingers clenching on his knees. He closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath, then shook his head in despair. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me, Buchanan: what makes you happy?” Samuel’s voice was warm and gentle.

Opening his eyes again, Buchanan gazed into the flames. His first instinct was to say ‘nothing,’ but then he realized: “Steve. Steve made me happy.”

The smile was clear in Samuel’s voice when he replied, “Then maybe that’s true love.”

Was it possible? Could Buchanan undo what he had done?


End file.
